


Positive Reinforcement

by l57371



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6670129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l57371/pseuds/l57371
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson has BAD habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Positive Reinforcement

Brunette. Perfectly sculpted. Tailored suit, complete with matching shoes and briefcase. Coifed hair, buffed and painted nails, nothing out of place. Totally Wilson’s type. House glowered fiercely as he watched the nameless woman flirting for all she was worth, and Wilson lapping it up like a starving puppy. And in the hallway of the hospital yet; obviously the woman had no shame whatsoever.

The woman laughed lightly as she leaned toward Wilson, her hand brushing down his arm and her head tilted so she could look up through her lashes at him. Wilson beamed, basking in her glowing attention and puffed out his chest a little in response. Okay, House thought, clenching his teeth determinedly. Enough. He pushed through the door of his conference room and stumped determinedly over to the couple.

“There you are!” he bellowed, slinging an arm over Wilson’s shoulder and plastering himself to Wilson’s side. “We had a lunch date, remember?” He smirked at the woman, who had backed up significantly at his approach, raising her hand to her throat in defense, clutching at non-existent pearls.

“House, no… I don’t -” Wilson stuttered, ducking his head and taking a breath. He looked back up at House and hissed into his ear. “We didn’t have a lunch date. Certainly not a date!” House’s grin merely intensified.

“Honestly, if I didn’t keep his social calendar for him, he’d probably forget and come into work on a Saturday.” He winked at the woman and tightened the arm around Wilson’s shoulders. “Come on, honey. Just for that, you’re buying.” House slid his hand down Wilson’s back and pinched him, hard, on the ass before moving past the woman, shooting her a glare, and heading for the elevator.

Wilson rubbed his hand over his face, placing the other on his hip. “I’m sorry, really. That was … well that was just something I’d rather not try to explain. Where were we?”

“I was just leaving, I think.” The woman ran a hand over her hair tugged discretely on her jacket. “Have a nice lunch.” She smiled a brittle and unconvincing smile and brushed past him quickly. Wilson sighed and watched her as she made her way down the hall. Sudden she stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. “You know, you could have just told me,” she said. Then she disappeared around the corner.

“Or I could just kill him.” Wilson sighed to himself, turning automatically to follow his friend to the elevator.

 

“Oh, stop your whining. I did you a favour!” House said, loudly, as he filched Wilson’s chocolate cake from the tray. He led the way across the cafeteria to their customary table.

“Of course, I can see how stopping the pretty, pretty woman from flirting with me is definitely in my best interests. How silly of me,” Wilson returned dryly when he’d sat down. “Just because you’re not getting any is no reason to--”

“Just because you’re not getting any is not reason to take up with the next ex-Mrs. Wilson! That woman was a Julie clone. Looked just like her. Talked like her, even flirted like her. Don’t you ever learn?” House stabbed viciously at his fries with a plastic fork. “What was her name?”

Wilson mumbled in his coffee cup.

“Say again?”

“Judy. Okay? Her name was Judy.”

House dropped his fork and leaned back in his chair, dropping his head back and speaking to the ceiling, large hands covering his face. “Why? Why do you do this? Do I need to, yet again, tell you the sad and tragic tale of what happens when certain doctors get married?”

“I wasn’t marrying her, House, I was just flirting with her.”

“Which leads to dating which leads to sex which leads to marriage. Which is the wrong way around, by the way, for good Jewish boys like you.” House leaned forward, pinning Wilson with his gaze. “You can’t ‘just’ flirt with anyone. We’ve seen the results of you ‘just’ flirting. Three divorces and some very bad choices.”

Wilson squirmed slightly under the intense scrutiny. “It’s not always like that. You know that.”

“I know no such thing.” House finally dropped his eyes to Wilson’s lunch, casing it for possible thievery. All the good stuff was gone already.

Wilson opened his mouth to speak again, paused and shut it with a loud click. He shook his head, closed his eyes and got up from the table. He stood there, leaning on the back of the chair, regarding House silently for a moment before turning to leave when the other man spoke again.

“I know you,” he said, voice pitched low for only Wilson to hear. “You can’t not flirt with every pretty thing that crosses your path. You can’t help flirting back whenever some girl bats her eyes at you. It gets you into trouble, and you know it.” House’s eyes flashed as they bore into Wilson’s.

Wilson opened his mouth to speak again, and again nothing came out. He squeezed his eyes closed and dropped his chin.

“You know I’m right.” House’s voice had gotten even lower.

Finally Wilson gave up and released the chair. He spun on his heel and beat a hasty retreat from the cafeteria, charging blindly for the door and scattering med students in his wake.

House watched him go, lips drawn down in a fierce frown, until millimetre by millimetre, a smirk replaced it, uncurling the edges of his mouth like a parchment, and two words were growled to no-one. “Aversion therapy.”

 

Over the next two days, House thought out his plan carefully. The only way to stop a bad habit was to nip it in the bud whenever it occurred, so he resolved to break Wilson’s habit himself. The morning of the third day found House hovering at the main doors of the hospital, waiting eagerly for his charge and his opportunity to put his plan into action. In short order Wilson came through the door, looking much too cheerful for a morning.

“Dr. Wilson, I presume?” House intoned, falling into step beside Wilson, who immediately altered his own to match House’s rolling gait.

“Nope, wrong again,” Wilson bantered automatically, attention focused on the message slips handed to him by the reception nurse. “I am merely a robotic double sent in his place to keep up appearances while he lounges in bed eating ice cream all day.” He lifted his eyes to House’s. “I even have a Genuine People Personality.”

“Oh good, a plastic pal who’s fun to be with,” House replied, swinging easily into the joke. Wilson chuckled softly. House continued, “Let’s go then, lots to do today. People to insult and cure, baldies to cry with. Busy, busy day.” He turned and took a step toward the elevator bank, then looked back quickly at Wilson. Wilson, who was busy smiling and chatting with the overly friendly nurse, the nurse with more buttons undone than she had previously, the nurse who was leaning over the counter toward Wilson.

House quickly stepped back, took aim, and – “Ouch! House! What the hell?!” Wilson swung quickly to face him, hands both attempting to and refraining from clutching at his now sore rear end.

He replaced his cane on the floor, leaning on it and eyeing the other man speculatively. “Stop,” he said in a low growl, his face firm and severe as if reprimanding a small child. He turned and made once more for the elevators, gratified to see that Wilson was following without even a backwards glance at the nurse. They slipped through the elevator doors into an empty car.

“What the hell was that about?” Wilson demanded as soon as the doors slid shut. 

House poked at the buttons with his cane. “You have a bad habit. It needs correcting. They say physical aversion is a good way to do that.”

“So, what, you’re going to follow me around all day and beat me with your cane if you catch me flirting? Is that the deal?” Wilson stared at him, disbelieving.

“Yup, that’s pretty much it.” House smirked right back.

“I don’t even know why you think this is any of your business, House!” Wilson paced away as far as the enclosed car would allow. “Flirting with women is just a harmless way to pass –”

“It’s not harmless, not for you.” House dropped the smirk and his eyes became hard, chips of arctic ice regarding Wilson critically. “You don’t know when to stop. You take it further and further until you’re stomping on a wine glass and I have to buy another cake plate, and that’s when you decide to finally stop flirting with her and go on to someone else, and by then it’s way too late. You –” he poked Wilson in the chest with one long finger, “– are going to learn where the line is. And the good news is I’m going to help you.”

“That’s … good news?” Wilson shook his head, covering his eyes with one shading hand. The elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor with a ding, a cheerful signal to begin the steeplechase that was to be his day.

 

Wilson unlocked his door and entered his office, hung up his coat and stashed his briefcase. He sat at his desk, staring down at the blotter blankly and contemplated the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. This would be easy. This could be easy. All he’d have to do was not be himself for the entire day. No problem at all. He groaned and scrubbed at his face with open hands.

The click of his balcony door opening made him uncover one eye, then clench them shut again at the sight of House swinging in through it, throwing it closed behind him as he stumped over to the couch and draped himself over it, cane at his side and a medical journal in his hands. He made himself comfortable, stuffed a pillow behind his head, opened the journal and waved a hand imperiously at his friend. “Go on with what you were doing, I’ll just keep myself entertained over here until I’m needed.”

“Seriously. You are actually going to sit there and read while I work?” Wilson’s voice rang with disbelief.

“No, not at all. I’m going to lie down, much more comfortable.” House waved again, eyes riveted on his journal. “By all means, continue.”

Wilson sighed. Then he sighed again. He threw up his hands. “Fine. You’re going to do what you’re going to do anyway. Far be it from me to interfere.” He pulled out the first file from his in-basket and opened it savagely. “But stay away from my patients.”

“Won’t be a problem. You don’t flirt with your … oh, wait.” House wrinkled his brow in mock consternation.

“Shut it, House.”

 

House stared blankly at what he presumed to be a Cialis ad in his journal. It had happy, smiling older couples but no mention of why they were smiling. It looked like a high class Viagra ad. Had to be Cialis.

Maybe he hadn’t thought through this plan all the way to its logical conclusion like he’d thought. The plan was simple, get Wilson to stop flirting with women all the time. The only trouble was, would it make Wilson stop flirting with him as well? Because that outcome was one he didn’t want. So maybe what he should be aiming for was a redirection of the flirting, make it all come to him instead of just the odd little throw-away line or wink. Up to that point, it was all he’d ever gotten from Wilson, all he had to survive on. That settled that, change of plans. Operation Cure Wilson’s Flirting has been binned and Operation Hoard Wilson’s Flirting had now begun.

The phone rang, and Wilson picked it up absently, muttering “Dr. Wilson” into the mouth piece while leaving his attention on the file in front of him.

House’s eyes shifted without moving his head. He watched as Wilson’s expression went from distracted to curious to happy. Whoever was on the other end of the line was one he wanted to talk to, and that was probably bad. He listened in to the conversation, one hand straying to the pocket of his jacket, collecting ammunition.

“Oh hey, hi!” Wilson’s attention was pulled immediately from the file and he focused his gaze instead on a blank bit of wall close to the balcony door. “I was hoping you’d call soon.”

House pulled an elastic band from his pocket, stretching over one long finger, around the ball of this thumb and hooking it onto his curled middle finger. He took aim and fired.

“Well of course! My door’s always open for you. Could you come –” He flinched and nearly dropped the phone when the elastic hit him square on the hand holding the receiver. He covered the mouthpiece and glared at House before returning to the conversation. “Um, you know what? I’m just going to let you talk to my secretary and she can book an appointment for you. Okay?” He stabbed viciously at the hold button and transferred the call. The glare continued.

“Ow,” Wilson enunciated deliberately and slowly.

“It stopped you, didn’t it?” House replied, nose back in the journal.

“Ow!”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. Think of it as aversion therapy.”

“So you’re going to be shooting me with elastics all day?” Wilson rubbed at the back of his hand, a livid red mark not unlike a bull’s-eye already appearing.

“Oh no, of course not. If I did that you’d be expecting elastics every time. No, that’s just one part of my arsenal.”

Wilson frowned and went back to his file, muttering softly under his breath.

House glanced up at him briefly before going back to the journal. “Yes, yes, I know. Fuck you too.”

Wilson smiled.

 

A knock sounded at the door, and it swung open to reveal one of Wilson’s charge nurses, an attractive blonde woman with assets not toned down at all by the scrubs she was wearing. She wielded a patient folder in front of her as if dangling bait.

Wilson glanced furtively over at House before motioning her in, nodding toward the patient chair on the other side of the desk. She ignored it and came around to his side of the desk, hitching a hip up onto it and leaning forward slightly. House quirked an eyebrow.

“I brought the McMurdo file. Did you want to arrange the home care or shall I?” She smiled as she draped one leg over the other, leaning sideways on the desk.

“Well, let’s see here, what exactly is she going to need?” Wilson breathed as he stood and leaned closer to her, head tipped over the file, nearly touching hers. Suddenly he sensed movement out of the corner of his eye and sucked in a quick breath. House was right behind her, holding what looked to be a large thumbtack with the business end only an inch from her tilted butt cheek. Wilson’s eyes went wide and he shook his head imperceptibly. House raised the other eyebrow.

Wilson immediately backed away, nearly tripping over the chair in his haste. House shuffled back to the couch but didn’t sit down. The nurse looked up in confusion.

“You go ahead and call them, tell them who it’s for and they’ll know what she needs. Thanks, Linda.” Wilson continued backing up a little, eyes darting between the nurse and House.

“Oh.” The nurse, Linda, slid off the desk and stood still for a moment, in defeat or confusion House couldn’t tell. “Okay then. I’ll just … I’ll go do that then.” She gestured vaguely toward the door as she turned, glancing back over her shoulder at Wilson as she went through.

As soon as she was gone, Wilson rounded on House. “THAT’S how you try to dissuade me? By threatening an innocent nurse with office supplies?”

“You saw, she didn’t. She had no idea what was going on. And it worked, you stopped.”

“I wasn’t flirting with her, House! I was attempting to care for my patient! Something I know you’ve never tried but the rest of us like to give it a go once in a while!”

“Oh please. That tête-à-tête was so close you could have been sharing dandruff. Five more seconds and you’ve have crawled right into her lap!”

Wilson dropped into his chair with a huff, burying his head in his arms. “Patient care!” he protested in a voice whiney with exhaustion and frustration.

“That could be handled over the phone,” House shot back. “But I have good news. I’m hungry. You can buy me lunch. No more naughty nurses trapping poor Dr. Wilson in his office.” He stumped over to the door and laid his hand on the doorknob.

Wilson rose from his chair and leaned on his desk, head hanging between his shoulders, looking for all the world as if he were praying for strength. Finally, he pushed off the desk and joined House at the door, waving him through with an ‘after you’ gesture.

“No smiling at the lunch ladies,” House said, brushing past. “Better yet, let’s go somewhere else, outside the hospital. Less chance of running into someone on your regular flirt route that way.”

Behind him, Wilson ground his teeth together but followed anyway.

 

House glanced briefly at the menu and shoved it aside, instead concentrating his gaze on the man across from him. He studied Wilson’s face, watching the play of expressions dancing across his face as he studied his own bill of fare, going from interest to disgust to resignation.

He lowered it with a sigh and looked back at House. “What?”

“What what?” House replied, affecting an innocent expression.

“You’ve been staring at me since we got here. Do I have ink on my face or something?”

House looked away. “No, just wondering.” He fiddled with the utensils.

Wilson made a ‘come on’ motion with his hands. “About? Come on, are you going to make me drag it out of you?”

“About why you feel this compulsion to flirt with every female you meet.”

“I don’t…” Wilson began.

“Don’t start denying again,” House cut him off. “You do. Maybe you do it unconsciously, I don’t know. But you do. I have a theory though.”

“I’m sure you do,” Wilson said dryly as the waiter approached.

House watched, almost speechless, as Wilson broke out his mega-watt smile for the young man, an attractive young man to be sure, and turned slightly to face him.

“So what can I get for you gentlemen today?” the waiter asked, looking directly at Wilson and smiling winningly.

“I don’t know…” Wilson leaned forward slightly to read the nametag on the waiter’s shirt. “…Todd, what would you recommend?” He affected a slightly puzzled look and tipped his head a little sideways, looking up through his bangs.

House’s heart stuttered in his chest. Was Wilson actually flirting with this guy? This boy? 

“The Thai chicken salad is quite good, nice and spicy,” the waiter said, ducking his head. “Good and –” he paused and blushed just a little “-hot.” 

“Mm, I like hot,” Wilson replied, his grin growing. House kicked him in the shin.

“He’ll have the salad, and so will I,” House growled, shooting the waiter a death glare as he scurried off. “My god. Is your requirement then just a heart beat?”

“He seemed nice,” Wilson growled back.

“I’m sure he was. And he would have been nice right up to the point where they arrested you for statutory rape. The boy is twelve!” House hissed.

“Young, yes, but not that young. Old enough to consent, I’d say.” Wilson said, nonchalantly polishing his fork with his napkin.

House decided shutting up was probably the best option, so instead he turned his attention to his water glass, studying the other man over top the rim. He flirted with boys. With men. Not just with him, with other men. Did that mean, then, that he wasn’t opposed to it?

Their meals arrived and House again shot a scathing look at the waiter before he could speak. The terrified boy dropped the salads and beat a hasty retreat.

House took a breath and steeled himself. Even he couldn’t believe what he was about to suggest. “You know,” he kept his face down but peeked up from under his brow, “if you really need to flirt, you should find someone safe to do it with. Someone who won’t take you seriously.”

Wilson paused, mid-chew, and looked up. “You mean like Lisa?”

“What are you, kidding me? No, not her. She’ll take you so seriously you’ll be bassinet shopping by Friday.” House tried to keep the scorn from his face.

“Then who could you possibly mean, House?” Wilson said, the smirk he’d been trying to hide breaking out all over his face and colouring his words with humour.

House contemplated him silently for a moment, then snarled, “Shut up,” and resolutely turned his attention back to his meal.

“I know you couldn’t possibly be suggesting that I flirt with you because we both know I have been flirting with you – for years! – and you’ve never once reciprocated. Except for that weekend in the Poconos, but I don't even think that counts since it was Foreman’s weekend, not mine. So forgive me for moving on to people who would reciprocate,” Wilson replied softly, carefully placing his fork on the table and fixing House with his most serious gaze. “If you wanted me to flirt with you, House, all you needed to do was, just once, flirt back.”

House’s heart pounded in his chest and his vision wavered as the words wormed their way through his brain. The salad in front of him shimmered and its place he saw visions of his fantasies, his late night bedtime stories, swimming in front of him. His breath quickened as one particular favourite appeared, what Wilson might look like at the point of orgasm, eyebrows lifted and lips forming a perfectly round ‘o’. His toes curled in his sneakers.

“Just once, House. That’s all I’m asking.” Wilson’s voice had developed a quaver.

House glanced up and then forced himself to lift his chin and meet Wilson’s gaze head on. He breathed in and out once, licked his lips and swallowed. Then swallowed again for good measure. Finally, he said, “So … come here often?”

Wilson’s face slowly split in to a grin so wide House was almost afraid the other man would start laughing at him, concluding an elaborate joke of which he was to be the butt. Instead, Wilson took another stab at his salad, ate the one bite, wiped delicately at the corners of his mouth with his napkin and then threw it on the table. “I think I’m done. What about you?”

House looked at the other man’s plate in confusion. It was still half full. He shot a questioning look at Wilson.

“I thought maybe you’d like to … talk. Somewhere else. Somewhere a little more–” he tilted his chin down, smiled slightly and looked up at House through his lashes, “– private.”

House felt his eyes widen and his heart stop in his chest. He made a mental note to have that looked at, since that was the third time that day it had done strange things to him. Pushing the non sequitor aside, he groped blindly for his cane while pushing back his chair, launching himself to his feet and limping quickly for the door. Noticing he was alone at the door he glanced back and saw Wilson, smiling widely at him and throwing bills on the table for their meal while at the same time pulling on his jacket. He waited for the younger man to catch up, and they made their way together to Wilson’s car.

House stopped before getting in, suddenly unsure. Wilson lifted a questioning eyebrow at him.

“What are we…? I mean, are we really – really going to…?” He trailed off as Wilson stepped in front of him, put his hands on House’s whiskered cheeks, leaned in and planted a steady kiss on his lips. Nearly as soon as they touched, Wilson pulled back and hovered, face a mere inch or two away from House’s, breath mingling.

“Yes, I think we are,” he murmured softly, stroking his thumbs over House’s cheeks.

“About damned time,” House growled, letting go of his cane and grasping Wilson around the waist, pulling him roughly to him and locking his arms around him. This time the kiss was rough, savage, unrestrained as House dove in to take what he’d so long craved. His tongue pushed between Wilson’s lips, flicking at his teeth, tasting his lunch and that morning’s coffee and a flavor that could only be just pure essence of Wilson. His hands fisted the back of Wilson’s shirt under his jacket and he could feel the heat of the flesh beneath against his fingers. And then he felt a draft. Wilson was pushing him away.

“Wait, wait,” Wilson gasped, panting for breath. “Get in the car!”

House took a second to collect himself and his cane and then fell into the passenger seat in an ungainly heap, still in a daze. The next thing he knew, the car was moving, and Wilson was speeding – actually speeding! – towards House’s apartment. It being the middle of the day, he found a parking spot very close to the front door, and soon they were inside, throwing the door open and rushing into the room, peeling off jackets as they went.

Uncertainty hit again as they both stood there, staring at each other, tense and jumpy. House licked his dry lips and groped for something to say to break the tension. Wilson beat him to it.

“So maybe aversion therapy wasn’t the right answer.” He lifted his chin and looked steadily at House. He knit his eyebrows questioningly. Wilson continued. “Maybe it should have been positive reinforcement instead. Not pelting me with office supplies when I flirt with someone else, but rewarding me when I flirt with you.”

House nodded slowly. “I can work with that, I think.”

“Good.” Wilson began stalking slowly toward House. “You look really good in those jeans.”

House took a step forward, meeting Wilson’s approach, and kissed him lightly on the corner of the mouth.

“Maybe we could get together for a drink some time,” Wilson whispered.

House kissed his closed eyelids.

“Or have dinner somewhere nice and private,” Wilson breathed.

House kissed his way down Wilson’s cheek to his earlobe, sucking lightly, and trailed a hand from Wilson’s neck to his waist.

“And see where it all leads,” Wilson ground out, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“It leads here,” House whispered. “Well, to be precise, it leads there.” He pointed with his chin down the hall to his bedroom.

“Well then, by all means, lead on,” Wilson grinned.

They made their way down the hall, kissing and touching and pulling at clothes, until finally they bumbled through the bedroom door and fell onto the bed, half clothed and half crazed. They wrestled briefly for dominance and Wilson won handily, though secretly House gave up and let himself be manhandled onto his back, loving every second. Finally straddling House’s hips, Wilson paused and looked down at the older man. House’s breath caught and he nearly looked away, but Wilson’s scrutiny was delivered with a look of awe and wonder, and House was trapped, pinned down. Instead he reached out and slid open the button on Wilson’s pants. That seemed to break his spell and Wilson smiled a filthy smile and shuffled backwards down House’s legs, awkwardly attempting to avoid House’s thigh.

When he got past his knees, Wilson made swift work of House’s own pants and tugged them gently down and over House’s hips, then bent over and placed a soft kiss on House’s belly, just below his navel, while he worked his boxers down as well, lifting the elastic gently over House’s erection. Wilson trailed his tongue down House’s stomach and placed a small kiss just where thigh met hip, then went back and did it again down the other side. At the same time he brought his hand up the inside of House’s thigh, carefully avoiding the pitted flesh, and cupped his fingers around House’s testicles, softly rubbing his thumb over the skin and hair, testing the weight. Then he slid his hand up and around the base of House’s erection while sliding his lips down and over the head, and House arched and moaned beneath him.

House’s vision was reduced to sparks at the edges and the sight of Wilson’s bobbing brown head in the middle. He reached down and carded his fingers through the soft hair, petting and patting and stroking while Wilson’s tongue did obscene things to his dick. Finally, he could hold his head up no more and he clenched his eyes shut, concentrating solely on the sensations in his groin. The flash flood of orgasm ripped through him from the tips of his toes to the top of his skull and before he could think to warn Wilson, he was coming right down his throat. He felt the muscles of Wilson’s throat swallowing around the head of his cock and he dimly wondered where Wilson learned to do that, but the thought flew out of his mind as quickly as it flew in and House was left gasping and shivering, quaking as Wilson gave him one final lick and let his cock drop from his lips. He kissed his way up House’s belly and chest again before tentatively pecking House’s lips.

The taste of himself was still on Wilson’s tongue as House yanked him closer and plundered his mouth like a pirate searching for gold, leaving no corner untouched. It was one of the most erotic things he’d ever tasted, he thought, and damn if he wasn’t getting turned on again by it. Instead he pushed on Wilson’s shoulder until he rolled off of House and onto his back, and House followed him, lying on his side beside Wilson.

“I don’t think I could follow that performance,” House breathed into Wilson’s ear. “Not without some practice, anyway.” He pulled at Wilson’s zipper and pushed aside the plackets of his pants, reaching into his underwear and pulling out his rigid cock. Experimentally he stroked lightly, up and down, just once. Wilson’s eyes slid shut and his breathing stuttered. Oh yeah, this was going to work.

“House, oh god, House, don’t care just keep – oh!” Wilson’s voice was thin and reedy, words tumbling from his mouth out of order.

House shifted closer, lifting himself up on his left elbow and threading his arm under Wilson’s neck. He draped his leg over Wilson’s thigh, nudging his knee lightly up into Wilson’s crotch until he could feel the heat and soft flesh of Wilson’s balls against his knee through the layers of fabric separating them. He tightened his grip and quickened his strokes, base to tip, squeeze, and back down again. He whispered raggedly in Wilson’s ear at the same time.

“Never want to see that flirty smile go anywhere else but to me, only for me, stop looking elsewhere…”

“For you, House, yes oh god oh god omigod yes yes!” Wilson’s reply got lost in his orgasm, his hips thrusting up to slide his dick through House’s hot hand, slick with sweat.

House watched raptly as his face contorted in pleasure – hmm, I was wrong, eyes clenched shut and mouth wide open – and filed the images away in his memory. He loosened his grip and stroked softly, still whispering while Wilson quaked beneath him, shuddering to a stop and exhaling into a boneless pile on the bed, shirt half off, pants open, the very picture of debauchery. House was almost ready for another go after taking in the sight.

Weakly Wilson’s arms came up around House’s torso, pulling him down on top of him and burying his face in House’s neck. They breathed together heavily for a moment, and House finally understood the term ‘afterglow’. Wilson’s skin was rosy and shiny with sweat, practically alight from the exertion.

A cell phone rang in the living room. House looked up at his bedside clock and chuckled softly.

“What?” Wilson asked, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“You realize it’s still the middle of the afternoon, right?” House smirked, knowing Wilson still had appointments to theoretically keep.

“Oh shit.” He began scrambling out from under House’s body, yanking his clothes into place as he did, and hit the floor practically running.

“When you call, tell them we’ll be out for the rest of the afternoon. Bad salad dressing! Food poisoning!” he called after Wilson, rolling onto his back and stuffing a pillow under his head.

“You want me to lie to Cuddy in order to stay here and have sex with you,” Wilson said, walking back into the bedroom, cell phone in hand.

“Yup.”

“…Okay.” Wilson shrugged and smiled, pulling again at his clothes, this time off instead of on, and exited the room again while dialing.

“Besides,” House shouted, “You need more positive reinforcement if you’re going to break your habit!”

Wilson came back into the bedroom, gloriously naked, and crawled up House’s body, kissing him soundly, smiled and said, voice low and raspy, “Reinforce me.”


End file.
